The Room of Gifts
by Froggiecool
Summary: Chapter 1: This year, as every year, Britain was ready. The present was completed, the flight as booked - maybe, this year, he would succeed in his quest. A drabble concerning Britain, Canada and the latter's birthday. Chapter 2: The world is at war again, and nations are fading in all directions. Canada goes to find his former caretaker, only to find something else in his place.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N. Happy birthday Canada and America... I adore MapleTea, but... This is more how I see their canon relationship working, if that makes sense. A little birthday drabble for the two boys. And, yes, this is our answerphone machine message... Just, with the family surname, not Kirkland. Virtual cookies for whomever can tell me the relevance of the two numbers towards the bottom of the piece.**

* * *

This year, Britain promised, he would remember. The tickets for his flight had been booked long before Christmas, and the gifts were almost complete. He sat by the fireplace, in an old, wing-backed chair. His chair as made of leather, and he sat adding the decorative details to the item he was making. The pale pink fabric was held carefully in his left hand, whilst nimble fingers bent a piece of craft wire into the shape of glasses. He used small stitches to attatch them to the doll.

He cut the thread, as the phone rang. He ignored it for a while, humming to himself, as the answerphone cut in.

"_Welcome to space-ship Kirkland,"_ he had used a voice synthesiser to give a robot replying to the speaker – effective against almost all cold callers, _"we are away from the bridge at the moment, so please leave a message with the automatic targeting system and somebody may return your call."_

The machine beeped, as the old nation chuckled.

"Hey, Iggy! I know you're there!"

The European groaned, tieing of his thread and glaring at the phone.

"Pick up the phone, old man!"

A few seconds of peace whilst Britain swore under his breath.

"Guess you're shopping or something... Anyway, don't forget my party! I'll expect you there to celebrate the day I kicked you out! Oh, and bring non-edible gifts, 'cause your cookuing stinks."

The line cut off as Britain pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. One drink wouldn't hurt, right?

* * *

One drink turned to another and another. Morning came and went, as did afternoon and evening. His flight left without him, but he did not realise. The door was knocked on, and ignored. The phone rang and he did not hear. He locked the door to his room, and slept. Then drank, then slept, then drank...

He finally left on the 5th of July, as another message was left - this one asking where he had been. The dreaded event was over; he was free for another year.

Nursing a terrible headache and stumbling slightly, he made his way downstairs.

Bleary eyes widened as he came to the front door. A fully packed suitcase sat next to it, a violet eyed doll, complete with red hoodie and blonde hair, stared up at him from behind wires shaped like glasses, head flopping sadly to one side.

Quickly he ran into the street, asking the locals for the date - he was too late. Always too late...

* * *

The doll was placed in a red box, and tied with white ribbon. The ticket went in, too. He sealed it with a kiss, pushing it onto a shelf. The entire room was filled with such selves, all filled with red boxes and white ribbons - in every box, a doll. 146 boxes, to be precise. Then, there were dolls not in boxes, numbering 104 - these ones smaller than the others, and yellowed with age.

"Happy late birthday, Canada." The nation whispered, hanging his head in shame and leaving the room of gifts for another year.

There was always next year - always next year...


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. Well... I wasn't going to do this, but... I did. Yes, both reviewers are correct - so, guest you also get a virtual cookie. And, yes, it does border on creepy. Welcome, they say, to the future. Some indistinctly distant point later... If the last part was short, this is tiny.**

**As for what happened here... I'm not sure. Canada was supposed to find them and then family fluffy stuff... Well, that didn't happen. I should add a warning now; blood and possible character death (that's up to you to decide, really). Rating up to T, now. This is more like horror...**

* * *

Years passed, and the room continued to fill. Nations died, and nations rose - did you ever believe Sealand would be a super-power? No? Well, it happened. War was waged once more, pushing the world into chaos. More and more were dieing each day, even as puppet states were born.

It was no surprise when Britain did not appear at a meeting one day. Germany simply struck his name from the roll-call, and they continued as usual - after China had lost and disappeared, nobody was surprised by anyhting.

Of all the nations to go looking, it was Canada and America who arrived at his house first. America looked on the ground floor, whilst Canada went to the first - not only were they making sure their former caretaker was actually gone, not just dieing alone somewhere, but there were things worth keeping in the house - photographs and sentiments the American nations did not feel happy with a foreign government - especially an enemy - taking. It was foolish and stupid, but they did it anyway.

Canada slipped between the rooms, checking for Britain first. The government had collapsed and the royals been shipped to Australia, so he doubted the matter. It was a completely internal room that he eventually came to, something illegible scratched into the door. When he pushed, it appeared to have been locked - but the lock had rusted away.

In the room were shelves upon shelves of red boxes tied with white ribbons. Curious, Canada took the one numbered '312' from its place, and pulled on the ribbon. It crumbled in his touch. He removed the lid, and withdrew a doll made of pink cotton, embroidered with silk, decorated with gold wool and silver wire. He held it in one hand, as he pulled the paper from the box out with the other.

Over a ticket to Toronto was scribbled the words '_Happy birthday, Canada_'.

Downstairs, a door opened. Canada stared at the doll, seeing likeness. A scream sounded; he looked at the other boxes all around him. Footsteps echoed on the stairs; he finally spotted the first hundred or so dolls in white shifts gazing forlorn and forgotten back at him. The door creaked open; he had stayed too long. Footsteps in the room; he turned to flee. A knife at his throat; eyes widened as bombs were released.

"Game," the voice tickled his ear.

"Set," Canada screamed for his brother as Montreal was lost.

"Match."

The doll fell limply to the ground, pale violet eyes staring into the soul of the enemy as blood splattered across its face.

_"Please remember me; I don't want to die alone,"_ it seemed to shout as the enemy turned, leaving the doll on the floor.


End file.
